Doxology Of The Father
by everyone'ssister
Summary: Tag for The British Invasion, 12.17."He was hunter where it counted." Dean says, a fond laugh falling from his lips, tucking a strand of Sam's hair behind his ear, "Kinda like you." Sam bites the inside of his mouth as he feels tears burn his eyes. "C'mon," Dean whispers, "Time to say goodbye."


For Mick Davies who did the Winchesters proud.

 _To do the right thing will hurt._

 _And will always,_

 _always cost us something,_

 _more often than not...everything._

 _—anonymous_

DOXOLOGY OF THE FATHER

The boys find Mick left laying in the tacky, drying puddle of his own blood and brains. It's been a while. His skin turning bluish, his eyes cloudy, there's a subtle sweet, cloying scent in the air. The British Men of Letters headquarters in America is clearly shut down. There's no electricity, no files, no computers...anything of value had been cleared out.

But Mick had been left behind rotting in his own blood, just like trash.

When they walk into the room, surprised to find the place open and silent they had both stopped in their tracks just inside the door.

"Jesus Christ." Dean had said under his breath at the sight, and as Sam swung around and punched the wall, shaking the entire structure Dean's eyes had been filled with sorrow and understanding. Mick may have not been a particular friend, but he hadn't been a particular foe either...he was innocent.

"Dammit." Sam whispers in defeat, his hands hovering over the slumped form of their ally and somewhat friend. Dean is silent for a moment taking in their surroundings, standing back in the shadows waiting for Sam. Letting him a have a moment to say goodbye and to realize this thing...whatever had been was over. Sam was different from him in that way, a life no matter whose life it was, once ended laid a tremendous weight on Sam's soul.

And Dean isn't kidding anyone, his soul sinks with the grief of the passing of this man. He had been good, loyal...people had been saved because of him and his work. But he sees from the way things are here and the single, perfect bullet hole in Mick's head that this was Ketch's work and that meant the British Men of Letters had turned on their own.

"Sam," he says gently, not moving and even though Sam can't see him he responds to his voice, turning towards it, somehow seeing his brother in the shadows. "Something went down, we need to get out of here."

Sam sighs, gritting his teeth and lets himself shuts his eyes just for a few minutes closing all this out. Hears his own voice telling Mick "you only have to live by your own code." And now he was dead, had been dead for a while. Sam isn't stupid, knows it's not coincidence.

He swallows thickly, glances from Mick's body to Dean, a mere silhouette in the shadows. And Sam can tell Dean doesn't like it here, his hunter's instincts all wolfed out, body tensed, mind racing and senses sharpened. He knows it too, if Mick was dead it was a good chance they were the next targets and even more probable that their presence here had been expected.

"We can't just leave him here." He says, looking to his older brother almost helplessly.

"What do you want to do?" Dean asks, steps closer and standing next to the fallen man anger rankles hot in his chest. Meaningless, needless kill. But still this wasn't about Mick now, it was about Sam. Sweet, trusting, hopeful Sam. Mick was the end of all those dreams. Dreams of helping people in new ways, in unheard of ways.

They would never be able to trust the brits again, never work with them again.

Sam looks around woefully, looks to his brother whose face is outlined, unmovable and severe by the shadows. But Sam knows him, knows that face. Can see the anger and the regret in the clench of that sharp jaw, sees the cold glint...the lust for justice in his eyes.

"Sam," he urges again. "We have to go, what do you want to do?"

And Dean's leaving it up to him saying _I'm sorry I know he was your friend, I know in another life he would have been the best ally, he would have been a worthy friend._ Because both Sam and Dean know that even though trust and different loyalties had been between them there had been a undeniable connection there.

"He deserves a hunter's funeral." Sam says, finality in his voice and Dean says nothing beside him, just nods. And Sam looks up at him, "Are you okay with that?"

Dean's face is a confusing twist of tension and softness, he puts a hand on his little brother's shoulder and smiles sadly, that glint still in his eyes. "He was hunter where it counted." Dean says, a fond laugh falling from his lips, tucking a strand of Sam's hair behind his ear, "Kinda like you."

Sam bites the inside of his mouth as he feels tears burn his eyes.

"C'mon," Dean whispers, "Time to say goodbye."

 _Our father, who art in heaven_

 _Hallowed be thy name_

 _Thy kingdom come_

 _Thy will be done_

 _On earth as it is in heaven_

...

Dean finds a piece of clean plastic in one of the halls and the brothers wrap their friend with it. Between the two of them they carry him to the impala and Sam feels sick as they close the trunk lid over him. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. They were supposed to have been a team...Mick may have been a newbie but he and Sam had connected with a vision for the future.

An honest, good vision where Dean, Sam and Mick didn't have to research freak deaths or hunt anymore. Where they would grow old without worrying about the rest of the world or the lives of their loved ones. God, what kind of life had Mick lived? ...no parents, no siblings. Just a cruel, deluded school and order of superiors that didn't care.

Sam sits beside his older brother as Dean drives them out into the country, somewhere that they wouldn't be caught burning a body. Sits feeling safe and oddly content, despite the aching in his chest, the guilt, the regret...the wish for something else. That somehow life looked different; he didn't even mean for himself or for Dean. He just honestly ached for the wasted and unappreciated talent, potential, passion and humor that had been Micheal Davies.

Dean is silent beside Sam. Emotions warring within him also. Questions and anger, sadness and regret... _you can't save everyone Dean Winchester, but you surely like to try._ There was a protection Dean could have offered and he hadn't...and Mick died.

And yet now Sam was affected by this. His precious, pure, sensitive soul crushed once again by someone else's sins...and Dean is almost angry with Mick himself for being killed because Sam even feels the dead's pain.

So his soul is stirred up in love and protection for Sam even though it is now too late to be of help to their new friend. The very largeness and tenderness of the unconditional love that shapes Dean Winchester rears its head for his little brother. He's quiet and gives Sam space, but his eyes follow his every movement, catalogues every emotion that passes over his face. The big brother is on the war path to make things better.

He stops in a wooded area, and they walk a ways in the trees with the body a shared burden between them and soon come to a stop in a clearing. Dean goes back for salt, lighter fluid and an axe for chopping wood. Sam sits down hard on the ground, leaning his back against a tree. Covers his mouth with his hands and lets himself breathe in and out slowly.

 _It's okay_ , he tells himself, _it's okay_. And he knows it will be, but just not quite yet.

Right now it's too fresh that Mick was an orphan without friends or family...but that didn't make his life any less important. Sam wished it did, Sam wished it didn't hurt so much since he didn't mean anything to anyone. But it was same as ever...a life deserved to be lived...and that was the code the Winchesters lived by, it was the code they taught.

Dean comes back his eyes landing on Sam, soft and alight with understanding and concern. And Sam sighs with the knowledge Dean has it all in control, he can let go. He can do this for Mick, for himself tonight. Dean's got his back, Dean will help him...Dean will pick up every single shattered piece of Sam when the ashes are blowing away in the cold morning and put him back together.

Silence sits between them as they gather brush and chop wood from dead trees lying on the ground. They build the pyre; the one their dad had first taught them to construct the first time they'd lost a fellow hunter on a case. That had been the first time, and every time they build one they wonder, they beg _is this the last one?_

Their eyes meet and they can see the same memories and nightmares there. Their dad, Rufus, Bobby...Charlie...the ones they'd lost that had no bodies to burn; Ellen and Jo. The brothers lift Mick's body up onto the wood and Sam grabs the bag of salt, starts sprinkling it, letting it fall into the openings in the plastic.

"Another one to add to the list." He says softly and Dean's eyes jump to meet his.

"Don't Sam." His brother warns, _don't do that to yourself._ He turns the lighter fluid bottle upside down and walks up and down the length of the corpse letting it soak in entirely.

"What are you gonna say?" Sam says his voice flat, but his lips turned up with a cold smile. "He made his own choice?"

Dean sends him a look, a plea... _don't do this, I'm not the enemy._ He clears his throat and hands Sam the matches, takes a step back respectfully and Sam shoots him a look. Takes it for what it was, a peace offering. _I'm not belittling his life or what he did, but his life is not on our hands, on your hands._

"How is it not on our hands?" Sam asks, voice hushed and eyes haunted as he drops the lighted match on to the pyre and it goes up in flames with a whoosh.

Dean is silent, gently takes Sam by the elbow and pulls him away from the growing fire, safely to his big brother's side.

"If he'd never met us he'd be alive right now." Sam says.

"What was the last thing you said to him, Sam?" Dean asks, his voice quiet and reverent but strong and sure too. Sam looks up to him at the unexpected steel in his voice, the resolve and conviction that Sam doesn't feel right now.

"I, I told him to live by his own code." Sam answers, eyes casting down, knows what Dean's about to say. That if you give advice you have to be ready to stand by it, you have to bear the consequences. And he shudders wondering if he can take judgement and icy cold from Dean right now.

"Yes, yes you did." And Sam jerks with the gentle tenderness of Dean's voice and looks to find a fond smile bending Dean's lips and his eyes alight with the fire flames and pride on Sam's face. "You did and you saved Eileen's life, and mine and yours...and you changed him, Sam." Dean swallows and looks to the fire.

"You were his friend when he had no one and you changed his mind and his life and you did it so amazingly that he was willing to die for it, Sam. He died living by his own code, and that's all that any man can ask for."

Sam shakes his head looking down and away, refuses the comfort Dean is offering. "Died loving by our code, you mean," he says.

"Yes," Dean answers honestly. "And he stopped living for the code that had dictated his entire life and he started living for himself and for the right thing Sam...and that's pretty huge."

 _Give us this day our daily bread_

 _And do not lead us_

 _Into temptation but deliver us_

 _Deliver us from evil_

Dean falls silent as they slump down to take a seat under a tree, letting their backs hit the trunk. Their shoulders brush and Dean lets what he said sink in and Sam sighs as he thinks of his brother's words, his head falling back to rest on the tree trunk. Many people had given their lives for the Winchesters. Sam considered it their curse that something about them bore so heavy on people's hearts that they gave up their lives for them. And true to Winchester style he never realized it was because they _loved_ he and his brother so so much.

"Why?" He asks out loud. "Why do they all die?"

Dean's heart breaks as he meets those kaleidoscope eyes, brimming with unshed tears, the agony and confusion there echoing the emotions deep in his own heart. And he doesn't know the answer to that question either, asks it, pleads it, shouts it out every night, every lonely night...every time he thinks of Sam struggling through this life with just Dean by his side...

And the Winchester in him hates that, thinks Sam would be so much better off with someone else, with somebody else at his back protecting him and loving him. Doesn't realize no one would do half as good a job as Dean.

"Sammy," he says gently, his hand landing on the back of Sam's head, fingers slipping in soft hair, and guiding it to his shoulder. Sam goes willingly, allows Dean to wrap his arm around his shoulder and hold him close to his warmth and his safety.

There's no awkwardness, no waiting tension in the air. They simply watch and wait as the fire devours Mick's remains. Sam soaks up the warmth and nearness of his brother, finally feels himself letting go of the pent up anger and panic. As he relaxes his forehead falls to rest against Dean's neck and Dean lets his own head fall to rest on top his little brother's.

Sam can feel his chin on the top of his head moving as he breathes. Can hear his heart beating under his ear...it's amazing and terrifying when he thinks that Dean could be gone just as fast and unexpectedly as Mick had done. His fingers grip Dean's jacket tightly, closes his eyes and lets himself smell Dean in, lets himself listen to that familiar, beautiful heart beat.

"Not going anywhere, Sammy." His brother mumbles, as always somehow knowing just what Sam needs. The younger Winchester just pulls on his coat, where his fingers are twisted into the fabric, pulling his older brother impossibly closer in the frigid night air. His eyes wander back to the fire and they glaze over with illumined dancing of the flames.

"I love you, Sammy." Comes whispered on the late night wind above him.

Sam feels his breath catch on the lump in his throat, feels himself blink trying to deny he has anymore tears.

Dean's arm tightens around him, jostles him gently. "This is where you say love you too Dean, you're my hero Dean, wish I could be just like you Dean..."

Dean shocks the laugh right out of him, and who else could do that? No one. And even though it feels like it may break his heart, it also relieves some of the crushing weight too. What would he do without Dean? What would he do if the British Men of Letters took him away?

He can feel Dean smiling at his laugh, no doubt very pleased with himself.

"I love you too, Dean." He says, voice just above a whisper, the words smeared into Dean's jacket. And all Sam's shattered pieces come flying back into place as he feels his older brother place an angel soft kiss in his hair.

His eyes go back to the flames, to the evidence of another one of their friends it's destroying. _Thank you Mick,_ he prays, _thank you_. Because no matter what went down, why Mick had to die or how many others had to die...this was what Sam fought for. And maybe that made him a hypocrite, but Dean would always be his code, his right thing.

 _For thine is the power,_

 _And thine is the glory,_

 _For ever, and ever...amen._

THE END

ABSOLUTELY NO APOLOGY FOR THIS BROMANCE 'NESS'

Hope you enjoyed! Cried many a time writing this, hope it touches you guys too!

REVIEW!?:);):);)


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